With This Ring
by Llewlyn
Summary: A Halloween tale.  Things are always darkest before dawn.  And then some obsessive and insane spirit blows up all the light bulbs.  And then it's really really dark.  The best time for telling stories...
1. A Worthy Opponent

**Disclaimer: **The characters of Beetlejuice and Lydia are owned by Geffen. Oops, no, make that Warner. As if anyone could actually 'own' BJ. Although Juno tries, on occasion, to make him behave. But truly, cultural icons live in the hearts and minds of the loving public, and occasionally take on a life of their own. Which i am by no means taking advantage of. Oh no. Not me.**  
**

**AN: **A story for Halloween, my favorite time of year. This is a mix of truth and fiction, as in, 'truth is sometimes stranger than…' Different-- maybe not even a romance! I know, wierd, huh?

**Soundtrack**: Written to 'Rain Dogs' by Tom Waits, and 'Delirium Cordia' by Fantomas.

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**Chapter One: A Worthy Opponent**

A candle to the right and to the left inside her circle, white and black. She thought one of them should be striped, in honor of his pants. She had used graveyard dirt for the circle itself, dug from under a yew tree for its power, but it still made her a little nervous. And this was no time to be nervous. . And she didn't have a photograph of him, so she had sketched a picture. It was a good likeness. He was hard to forget. But she would not have dared do this without the ring.

Right. As Eliot said, it was time.

She lit the black candle first. "This candle burns for my intent. Protect from harm and hurt prevent. He who is called; no harm to me. I say his name, so mote it be." And then the white: dark to light. A cold wind stirred beyond the inner circle where she sat, but didn't ruffle the papers outside of the outer. And in front of her, the paper where she had drawn his face sat in a circle all its own. "This candle burns, his name is spoken. This ring binds a promise which cannot be broken. For duration here he is of me. I say his name; so mote it be."

There. The spell was cast. She prayed that it would hold. "Here goes…" she muttered, and took a deep breath.

"Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice." This was not a good idea. But it was the best she had. She braced herself, mentally. Here goes, indeed. "Beetlejuice."

A tiny storm swirled furiously inside the circle, thunder and lightening. And her room erupted into fire. She steadied herself. It was a trick. Her apartment was not burning down around her, even though she could feel the heat of it. Her bed burst into flames, and the smoke swirled through the room, though not past the line of the greater circle. He was playing with her, testing her nerve. It was a trick. Gods, she hoped it was a trick. Her landlady would be furious if she came back from Tahiti to a smoking ruin.

She swallowed, the scent of brimstone strong in her nostrils. "Show yourself." Good. Her voice was firm, at least, if not her pulse.

Like a wraith, he appeared in the middle of the storm. His striped suit was rumpled and filthy, and his face… blackened eyes, encrusted with grave dirt, and his green eyes feverish. "Well, well…if it isn't my favorite little liar." His voice was weighty with resentment. He stepped towards her, but was brought up short at the edge of the circle. He traced his hands lightly over the surface of the wall of air that blocked his path. "I spy somethin' with my little eye… 'cept there's nothin' to see, is there?" He dropped his gaze to ponder her. "Another betrayal, Lyds?"

"Binding spell." She didn't trust her voice very far. He had gotten her right in her honor, and it stung. Instead, she held up her right hand, the gold ring gleaming on her ring finger.

"Wrong hand." His voice betrayed more irritation than his expression, which remained calm, but the air around him vibrated dizzily. She had to look away.

"If I wanted to marry you, you'd be right." He scowled darkly, and pushed against the circle. A flash of bright pain sparked behind her eye, and she winced. And he smiled a fierce smile.

"Wrong time to show weakness, little girl." He began to press steadily against the barrier of the circle, and the pain exploded in her head.

"Please just let me speak…" But her nose erupted in a rush of blood, and she pressed her sleeve to her face to staunch the flow. This wasn't supposed to be how it worked. The migraine pain bowed her to the floor.

"You can't use this particular spell without my true name, Lydia." His voice was sensual now, a lover's voice. "Didn't your little library book tell you that?" She nodded at him, blood dripping off her lip, fighting the urge to vomit. He shook his head in mock pity. "You ain't strong enough to hold me, little girl. Bad choice with the spell, tyin' it to your own strength. You'll pass out within two minutes. And then we'll see who's pullin' the strings."

Then, for a moment he paused, and the pain let up. His eyes focused on her intently, and she tilted her head up to meet his gaze, blood dripping from her chin. "How come you did this, knowin' you'd fail?" He sounded both curious and disappointed, almost, as if he had expected her to be more resourceful, or stronger. A worthy opponent. She spit blood out of her mouth.

"I need your help…"

"No." Sharp finality, and a tense anger sharpened his voice to a knife's edge. "You tricked me. You broke your promise. And then you thought you could have me at your mercy, like a friggin' genie in a bottle? _Think again_." He began to press, harder this time, until she felt like her eyes were going to pop out of their sockets. But she had to speak… just one more time. It took all the strength she had left.

"Gabriel."

The pain and the fiery illusion ceased at once. He stared at her, his tawny, wild head pulling away and his mouth slowly unhinging open in stunned disbelief. She squinted up at him, dizzy, wiping the blood from her nose with her hand. And in that moment, all the ferocity left his expression, and was replaced by a quaver that made him appear as though he might cry. "What did you say?" His voice trembled very slightly.

She was shaking so hard she could barely speak. A few gulps of air, and her heart rate began to slow back down. "Your name. Your real name. Gabriel."

"But… how?" Everything was forgotten in that moment—anger, fear, pain, and they were speaking across the chasm of the binding as if whispering in each other's ear.

She weakly held up her right hand to show him the ring. "Inscribed, Beetlejuice. It's inscribed on the inside of the ring."

"Well, fuck me." He shook his head, looking a bit lost. And, anger spent, his hands dropped slowly to his sides.

She grinned hesitantly, relief evident in her exhausted features "No thanks. I have _way_ too much self-respect for that." He sneered at her, but without much heat, and even that was soon replaced by curiosity, as he studied her thoughtfully. Lydia shook her head to clear it and wiped her face off with a damp towel she had set within the binding circle. "That was much harder than I thought it would be."

He grinned obnoxiously, lips curled back in a mocking leer. "I'm a bit harder than I thought I would be, too." She grimaced in disgust.

"Yuck. Not a chance." The urge to vomit rose again, but she quelled it forcefully.

"You'll pay me somehow, little girl. One way…" His emerald green eyes trailed meaningfully across her blood-spattered, sweat-soaked shirt. "…or another."


	2. Complicated

**Soundtrack**: Written to 'Violator.' Yeah, I know, that one crops up a lot. What can I say? _Dangerous_ is BJ's theme song.

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**Chapter Two: Complicated**

After a moment's perusal which made Lydia long to break the circle just so she could take a hot shower to clean off the traces of his lingering gaze, Beetlejuice settled comfortably down in the circle that bound him, legs crossed and long-fingered hands draped carelessly over his ankles. If had worn glasses, she thought, he would have taken a long moment to polish them. So his voice, gruff and sensual, startled her slightly. She needed to pay better attention, dammit.

"So what are you playin' at, girlchild?"

"I'm not a child." Gods, maybe she could stamp her foot and throw a fit to be more convincing? He smirked.

"Coulda fooled me. Stupid enough to bind the world's most powerful poltergeist to your own pathetic strength of will… overblown sense of invulnerability, Lyds? Or a death wish?" He chewed at a ragged fingernail. She wondered randomly if his fingernails still grew. But then, he wasn't a dead body, exactly. He _looked_ dead… except that his body didn't show any wounds. At least of what she had seen of him. She grimaced—where had _that_ thought come from? She forced her attention back to the conversation.

"World's most powerful? Hardly," she scoffed. His lip twitched.

"What do you know about it?" He looked mildly offended.

"Well, just that a little girl managed to bind you with a spell from a library book—that doesn't seem too impressive to me." She cocked an eyebrow at him, and his eyes narrowed.

"You were lucky. The spell didn't really work. Only because you happened to guess my name." His eyes darkened. "Don't forget it."

"So if I beat you in a fair fight, it's lucky? Is that what you call it when people best you?"

"You haven't bested me. This is just a… a temporary _reprieve_." She felt the sizing up of this, the squaring off. His prideful bluster against her desperate hope that he didn't really hate her. She tried a different tactic.

"Strange name for such a wicked ghost, Gabriel."

He smiled, just a tiny twitch in the corner. "Depends on your definition of _wicked_, babes. Look in the mirror. Bloody, dark magic, incantations to bind demons…" He paused, and the smile grew broader, showing more teeth. "Bindin' spells are usually used as a last resort, you realize. Can get really… _complicated_. So, Lydia Deetz, you must be very, very desperate for my help." He had leaned forward, his nose nearly touching the barrier, and his gaze was intent on her face now, lips parted, teeth gleaming. So this was what lunch felt like? She shuddered. The gold ring, his name… all of it seemed a bit inadequate. She swallowed. Time for truth.

"I am." He raised an upswept eyebrow, inviting her to continue. "I don't know where else to go." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "Something… is wrong with me." Now he raised both eyebrows in sarcastic disbelief. But she had to get this all out. "I think that I'm being possessed."

His eyes flickered narrowly, and he tilted his head to the side very slightly. "Why do you say that, Lyds?"

In response, she flushed, and then stood carefully in the confines of the circle, and began to unbutton her shirt. He sat up straighter, a leer blooming on his lips, as he watched her carefully. "Thought you weren't interested?"

"I'm _not_. But it's still easier to show you, even if it means you drool on my floor." She had reached the bottom and with a hardening of her jaw, she tugged open her shirt. His eyes trailed over her bra almost lovingly, but then his gaze dropped to her stomach.

"What the hell's that?" On her stomach, cut into her flesh, were the words, "CALL HIM." And then, as she turned carefully around, the letters B G B G B G. And on her back, a blackened bruise in the shape of a small hand. She slid her own hand awkwardly on top of the bruises, and they matched. But her hand was in such an odd position that there was no way she could have exerted any pressure. Certainly not enough to cause that kind of damage. He settled back on his heels, a look of concern sitting lightly on his features. She pulled her shirt back on, to his obvious disappointment.

"You know, I might need to take a closer look at those."

"Not hardly. It is what you see. And I don't trust you." _So there_, she thought, and inwardly rolled her eyes at herself. How did he make her feel like she was sixteen all over again, just by standing there?

"You're gonna have to, aren't you?" He quirked that tiny smile again. "That is, if you really want my help." He peered at her. "Didn't really think this one through, didja, Lydia? Dog on the leash can't hunt, can he?"

And then something happened. Her face went slack. A shape, formless like smoke, trickled into her from outside the circle. The binding spell only protected her from _him_, of course. He had witnessed many many possessions in his time—had actually been the possessor on a few occasions, but it was a sticky business, and he never liked the way it made him feel. Square peg in a round hole, and such. But bound, he couldn't interrupt, and wouldn't have anyway, and so he just watched quietly, uncertain what to expect from a ghost that would carve holes in a little girl.

Lydia's body stretched sensually, and he heard a throaty purr than gave him chills. Lydia's dark eyes looked down at him, and her mouth stretched in a feral, brutal grin. "Well, well. So she did what I asked."

It was still Lydia's voice. Nothing had changed, except the mechanism behind the movements. He rose to stand carefully balanced, as if he could fight like this. The dark girl in front of him stepped to the very edge of the binding circle, and chuckled. "And look—you're all wrapped up with ribbons and bows. She's such a good little girl. I might keep her."

"You gave her the book?" His voice betrayed nothing but curiosity.

Lydia's body was pulled into a coy pose that didn't suit her. Beetlejuice didn't like it at all. "The spell wasn't actually supposed to _work_. But surprise, surprise. She must be stronger than I thought."

"Doubt it. So why didn't you call me yourself? If you're so… eager to get to know me?" His mouth twitched up at the corner. But the ghost in Lydia frowned, and wagged her finger at him.

"Don't you recognize me, Beej?" He shook his head, his eyes darkly intent. Lydia's mouth turned down in a pout. It didn't even look like her anymore. But he knew that pout. Icy recognition splashed through him, and his lip twitched in disgust.

"Clara. You found me, then."

"I found _her._ She found you. Neat way to circumvent the binding, don't you think?" He scowled. Binding spells really could be so friggin' complicated. Lydia's mouth smiled sweetly at him, but her eyes were hard. "We'll talk again when you're feeling less taciturn, sugar."

"Leave the kid out of it." He wished he wasn't in such a weak position to argue. Dammit, Lydia, for knowing his name. His stomach twisted. Did Clara know? If she did, then things would be a lot more complicated than they already were.

"Lift the binding." Her voice was well practiced on that little phrase.

"Suck me."

"Ooh, Beej—such the sexually frustrated poltergeist. I may not be able to say your name, but there are other ways to get your attention." She smirked, and then pulled a small knife from Lydia's boot. "Such a clever girl, don't you think? So much… potential." Lydia's small hand wielded the knife expertly, and sliced through the flesh of her arm. Blood spurted from the gash, and dripped onto the floor, onto the chalk line. He felt the binding begin to break, and bared his teeth at the ghost inside the child. Lydia's mouth twitched nervously. "Well, see ya next time, lover." And she was gone before the binding dissolved. Beetlejuice was loosed just in time to catch Lydia as she toppled heavily to the floor.

The bleeding was already slowing, and his pressed his hand over her wrist to staunch it. This was a fine mess. He sighed, and chewed at his lower lip. Clara. But Lydia was stirring in his arms. She groaned, and her eyes fluttered open. And then a look of stark terror washed over her face.

"What? How did you? What happened? Oh my God!" The pain of the wound lanced through her. "Get away from me!" Tears burst out of her eyes as she crawled backwards into the broken circle. He scowled, and then stood, shaking his head at her.

"You've a pretty problem. Trouble from the moment I met you." He flicked his fingers and a cold damp cloth appeared in his hand. He tossed it to her. "Wrap that around your wrist." But her hands were shaking. Possession was like drug addiction—withdrawal was a bitch. Sighing in disgust, he kneeled in front of her. "M'not gonna hurt you, you idiot. Quit. Gimme that." And he tugged the cloth from her trembling fingers and wrapped it around her wrist. She was sweating and trembling, from their earlier battle and now, this. He'd seen shock enough times to know what came next, and what she needed. He slid his arms under her and lifted her easily onto her bed, and then tucked a pillow under her head.

"I just wanted your help, Beej... I didn't mean this to be a war." Her voice was thready, and it tugged at him. Just a little.

"It's not a war." He stroked her hair away from her forehead, feeling disgustingly tender. "But next time, just friggin' ask, okay?"

"I was afraid… of what you would do to me." A tear leaked out of her eye. "Did it… happen? Did you see?"

"Yeah." She was afraid of him? That was something new. Lydia had never been afraid of him. Maybe she was just delirious. That had to be it. But there was the binding spell to consider. She had clearly felt that he was some threat to her, if she felt the need to protect herself from him. He tucked that away to ponder later.

"You believe me?"

Gruffer, now. "Yeah. I believe you."

"What happened?"

"Just go to sleep. I'll fill you in later." Right now he needed time to think. But he knew he wouldn't get as much time as he wanted. Like a few millennia, at least. Her small hand clutched his sleeve.

"Will you stay? And… behave yourself?" Her voice was a little stronger now. He squinted at her.

"What do I get out of this?"

"Mercenary… she muttered. He grinned. Lydia gave him a contemplative look. "What do you want?"

Well. He hadn't expected that. He frowned, and realized for once that he didn't have a ready answer. "I don't know," he admitted.

"Let me know when you decide." And then she fixed him with a look of such seriousness, that had he had a working heart, it would have stumbled a bit. He nodded at her thoughtfully. And then she closed her eyes, and faded slowly to sleep. Leaving him with a bloody, sleeping girl on his hands, and a terrible specter from his past. Literally, in this case.

He slumped to the bed and shoved Lydia over so that he could stretch out and think. But his thoughts just ran in a tape loop for a long time, repeating the same thing over and over. Dammit. Why did it have to be her?


	3. Deft

**AN**: Short, I know. More coming. And i am having the hardest time figuring out what to wear for Halloween this year! Time for a trip to Goodwill, i think...

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**Chapter 3: Deft**

Lydia slept, her vocalized lack of trust abandoned as the lesser of two evils. The lesser evil was now curled comfortably in her down comforter, his eyes closed, unsuccessfully trying to focus on the problem at hand. But his thoughts kept edging off into the darkness of a dim memory. He could still feel her thin hand against his cheek as she radiated outwards the joy of the haunt, the power of fear. Such a powerful siren she had been, so full of destruction. Her inability to love had been replaced with obsession, and she had been very good at that. By the end, he was thankful that he had not been her object, even if it meant that someone else had to die.

Very few things scared Beetlejuice. Clara was at the top of that short, unpublished list.

He glanced at the pale girl sleeping next to him, breathing slow and even, eyelids fluttering in some deep dream. Focus changed, pivoting on the delicate shape of her ear. It wasn't long before Beetlejuice came to two unassailable conclusions. The first was that Lydia was in trouble because of him. There was no way around it. Clara would never have been even remotely interested in Lydia had it not been for her connection with him. No… her tastes ran more to the helpless victim type. The second was that he was the only one who could do anything about it. He frowned moodily and shouldered himself deeper into the bedcovers. Temporarily, he could keep them both safe.

Beetlejuice began slowly, pushing his awareness out just to the edge of the bed. Part of the reason he was annoyed by the weekend ghost photographers was that they never managed to catch his good side. All this blurry orb business and never the rakish grin that charmed all the ladies. Well, all but one, he mused, as he glanced at the still-sleeping girl, pale even against the white sheets, dark hollows under her eyes. But it was true, he thought, getting back to himself, that his orb was rather on the magnificent side. As well as being huge and extremely easy to spot, like a gasoline fire on a dark night in the desert. Clara wouldn't miss it—would know that he was with Lydia, waiting.

Waiting. But she had never given him credit for thinking.

Ghosts usually never bothered with solid barriers; no need, really. Fill up a room with dark energy and no mortal would go near it unless armed with salt and sage, and even those didn't work sometimes. But Clara wouldn't be put off by a feeling of dread. Not hardly. No, he needed a real spiritual barrier. And that was a real pain in the ass. Massing considerably more concentration than he was used to holding, he began to weave threads of energy together with a deftness belied by his customary wildness. The barrier would be in the shape of a sphere—always easier than having to deal with corners, and he anchored it to his own essence rather than to the bed itself, just in case they needed to exit post-haste.

Finally, it was done. He sighed and stretched, his coat long abandoned along with the tie, and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. He scowled down at his shirt, blinked, and changed into a black t-shirt that was moderately cleaner. And then the moment could not be put off any longer. It was time to wake the girl.


	4. Waking the Girl

**AN**: Okay, here's the longer chapter. Reader beware— BJ is his fine wicked self in this, and I can't make him behave. Frankly, sometimes I'm afraid to try! And this isn't a romance. It's not! Stop looking at me like that...

**Soundtrack: ** Last.fm electronica tag, including a lovely dark song by Sefiros off the Deconstruct disk.

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**Chapter 4: Waking the Girl**

"Lydia? Lyds?" He reached his hand out and gripped her shoulder lightly, and then shook her like a leaf until she woke, wide-eyed and attempting to brace herself against the shuddering mattress.

"I'm awake! Awake! Quit!" Lydia grabbed his arm in both hands, and then, surprised at the cool soft texture of his skin, released him immediately. "What happened to your coat?" She rubbed her hands together, whether consciously or un- he didn't know. But it didn't matter. He slumped a little. If she couldn't even bear to touch him, this wasn't going to work.

"Didn't know you were so squeamish, girlchild." His voice was sulky. She frowned at him.

"I'm not. I just… I was… I didn't expect that. Is all. I mean, you feel… different."

He chewed at his bottom lip and looked at her through narrowed eyes. She squirmed a bit, and then made an effort to hold still. He took a deep breath. They had to cross this barrier. "Try it again. I won't bite." But his mouth quirked in a mischievous smile, anyway. She looked warily at him, and then, to his surprise, she reached out and stroked her fingers down the inside of his forearm. Her touch was gentle and hesitant, and it sent a shiver through him. His mouth went quite dry, and his lips parted slightly. He might even have swallowed. She looked shyly up at him to find him intently focused on her.

"Your skin feels like silk. Except you aren't warm." He nodded, not trusting his voice—he imagined speaking and hearing his own voice crack as if he were just entering puberty. Deep breath. It wasn't the oxygen he needed, but the calm.

"I won't break, you know."

"I will."

"I wouldn't…" But she pressed her fingertip to his lips.

"Don't even go there, B." Her hand was shaking slightly. "I have been through a great deal in the past few days. So just don't." But he looked so dejected, so at the brink of seriousness, that she cast around for another topic, just to distract him. "So what happened? You owe me an explanation, Beej."

"Yeah, I guess I do." He tucked his arm into his body, skin still tingling from her touch, and leaned back against the headboard.

"I have to… um. I need to shower and change, and treat this cut. Do you mind?" She was looking down at herself, still spattered with blood. Her wrist was bound with a strip of cloth that had turned brown with dried blood during the night. He frowned. Humans and their skins—always something needing to be emptied or scrubbed or scratched. But there was a small problem.

"Um, sure, but you can't go more than three feet from me until we sort out this… thing."

"What?" She stared at him, uncomprehending. He flicked his finger against the barrier and a blue glow rippled across the surface of the sphere. Her eyes followed it.

"You put us in a bubble? Together?" Her voice was a little hysterical.

"Would you rather I left you out there to be possessed at will by an insane spirit?" He was more than a little angry. Here he was, protecting her, when he could have been a thousand miles away sipping banana daiquiris by some Hawaiian bonfire, and did he get appreciated? Oh no, not him.

She had the grace to look abashed. "You're protecting me?"

"I'm protectin' us _both_." That came out a little harsh, and she winced. But he continued. "So long as I stay Out, she can get to me too. I don't intend for that to happen, okay?"

"Okay! Okay. Bu t I need to take care of this, Beej. And I'm all itchy." He studied her for a moment, and then sighed with dramatic weariness.

"Fine. But I like the water hot!" He tried his rakish grin again.

Her eyes widened. "You are _not_ showering with me!"

"But--!" He protested loudly, but she crossed her arms in front of her body, and he subsided sulkily. "Whatever. Just don't take too long. Hard enough as it is." She jumped off the bed and he stood to follow. Before she could object again he held up his hands to ward her off. "Hey! I'm just standing, okay? Just don't cross the barrier." Lydia shut the bathroom door on him and he sighed. Damn women always had to take the fun out of everything.

Beetlejuice settled his back against the door and listened as Lydia cursed while she peeled off the wrapping of her wound. That had to sting. He could have helped her, but he wasn't feeling all that helpful at the moment. The creak of the water faucet, and more cursing, and then he heard the shower door open. Temptation was mighty. Steam billowed out from under the door, and he heard a small sigh. Wait a minute. Temptation? Had there ever been a measured heartbeat between temptation and giving in to it in his entire life? He scratched his head.

Nope.

He was halfway through scrubbing her cedar oil scented shampoo into his wild, tangled hair before Lydia realized what had occurred and started screaming at him to get out. He cackled with wicked glee and stole her soap, and the screaming changed to a shrieking protest as he washed himself all over, the theatrical grave dirt washing down the drain as she pummeled his shoulders.

"Beetlejuice! Get the hell out!" She was shouting and squeezing her eyes shut and flailing at him all at once. He slid a soapy hand around her mouth and wagged his finger at her.

"Say my name again and you're in this by your lonesome, Lyds. Where's the conditioner?" His jade-colored eyes sparkled playfully at her. She was flushed from forehead to toe, hands frantically covering whatever of her he happened to be eyeing. But then his gaze fell to her wrist, and he tugged it gently toward him. The cut on her wrist was inflamed and deep. "Geez, Lyds, she really got you, didn't she? Bitch."

"Can we talk about this after you get the hell out and I wash the soap out of my hair?" He was still holding her arm, the water coursing over his shoulders. She opened her eyes, careful not to look down, and cast him a pleading look. He gave her a wry half-smile, and then lifted his hand to her soapy hair.

"Let me." Whoa. Where had that come from?

"No!" She backed further away from him, pressing into the shower wall.

"What are you afraid of?" His voice was throaty and gruff. "Here you are, all cut up because some bitch of a ghost wants me to come out an' play. He traced the fading cuts on her back that initialed his name with a fingertip, and she twitched away from him. "An' you're all twitchy about it. M'not gonna hurt you."

"It's not the hurt I'm afraid of, Beej." Something in her voice stilled him, and he dropped his hands.

"Fine. Don't be long." And he flicked out of the shower, grabbing two towels along the way and wiping off the water as he walked through the door. Lydia squeezed her eyes shut and covered her face with her hands. Between the two ghosts there wasn't going to be much left of her to haunt. She leaned back into the water, washing out her hair, and trying to ignore the tingle that his touch had left on her skin.


	5. Deep Waters

**AN: **Squeezes and hugs to those who have reviewed—it means an _immense amount_. I want to encourage those of you who are just reading to consider leaving a few words of review to the writers here—it is valuable as a tool to help improve our writing and a great encouragement! Note your favorite line, or something you have a question about—anything! (end: public service announcement) Right, then. On with the show!

**Soundtrack: **The Chemical Brothers. I think it might be love.

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**Chapter 5: Deep Waters**

When she finally came out of the bathroom, Beetlejuice was propped up against the wall, a towel wrapped around his head and wearing jeans and ragged old bunny slippers. He opened an eye at her, more to gauge whether she intended to hit him than to see what she was wearing. But she stepped over him, towel wrapped tightly around her body, and pulled a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting embroidered black shirt out of the closet, along with bra and underwear, which she tucked under the shirt so he couldn't see. He grinned toothily and settled his head back against the wall.

Lydia dressed behind the door and then grabbed a comb to brush out her hair. She settled on the bed, and arched an eyebrow at him. "That was a really dirty trick."

He eyed her levelly. "I never think about anythin' 'till after I do it, and then only to gloat. You're makin' me think too much. It's annoying." He pulled the towel off his head and shook out his hair, which even clean was sticking out in every direction imaginable. "So you want to hear this, or what?" She nodded, and he stood and dove onto the bed, stretching out and taking up more room than seemed possible for not being but an inch or two taller than she was. She tried to ignore the way the dawn light made his skin glow like molten gold, but it was hard. And when he began to speak, his voice took on the natural lilt of a practiced storyteller, so much that she soon forgot about the tangles still in her hair, and the fury of embarrassment that still lingered from his jaunt into her shower.

"Well, about two hundred years ago, give or take a few decades, I fell in with a gang of haunters. Clara, your _friend_, was the ringleader, I guess I kinda had a thing goin' there for a while. 'Twas me, went by 'Blackdog' so no one accidentally sent me back. And there was Jerusalem, who I kinda adopted." He chuckled darkly. "Kid could swear up a hurricane. He even made _me_ blush a coupla times. Never heard the like. And there were the two sisters, too—Cypo and Mathy, who spent hours memorizing the Bible so they could quote scripture at the Bells. We were quite the family for a while there." He looked wistful in the soft light. "Got drunk a lot. And Clara, or she went by Kate back then, was always havin' us take the wormholes to the fruit market in Tortuga or the Spice Islands for hazelnuts." He fell silent for a moment, and Lydia set down her comb and curled up on the comforter beside him. Up close, she could still see no marks on him at all—only the smooth, unobtrusive muscle of a man who had worked for a living. But she knew it was rude to ask. Maybe someday he would tell her. Wait… someday? But before she could carry that thought out to its natural conclusion, he began again.

"Anyway, Clara got fond of this woman, Mrs. Bell. It was in Tennessee, if I remember rightly. We did the usual haunting gig—throwin' sticks an' pullin' hair. She'd have us coordinate so that all the kids would scream bloody murder at once. But she hated the husband as much as she loved the wife. I think it might have been because he had abused the eldest daughter… don't know for certain. That's what she held to, whether or not it was true."

"That's awful—no wonder she hated him." Lydia realized that she was being lulled to sleep by his voice, and sat up to shake off her drowsiness. He rose up slightly, and then slid his arm around her and tugged her down against him.

"C'mere, kiddo. You are seriously sleep-deprived."

"Who woke me up before dawn this morning?" But she eased her body into the curve of his, and pressed her cheek against the cool silken skin at the hollow of his shoulder. It felt… peaceful. She was careful not to analyze the feeling too thoroughly.

"Who called me Out into a Binding circle when I was just settlin' in to watch Ghostbusters?" His hand settled into the curve of her hip, in this casual intimacy that he at once welcomed and mistrusted. Granted, she was tired, and he was telling her a story. But they were united by a common enemy at the moment. What happened when they went back to being enemies themselves?

She smiled, unaware of his thoughts. "I was really frightened of what you might do. And now… I think I'm frightened for entirely different reasons."

"What reasons?" He didn't know if he was genuinely curious or just a glutton for punishement.

"Go on with the story?" Her voice held a bit of a plea. Fine, Lyds. Play innocent.

He chewed his bottom lip for a moment, gathering his scattered thoughts. "So the eldest daughter tried to marry, but Clara decided the boy wasn't good enough for her—too wild, she said. Not gonna treat her right. So she scared him away. Clara had… issues. We were lovers for a while, but she really liked Mathy better'n me, tho Mathy would have none of it. And to tell you the truth… she creeped me out. An' not because of the whole lesbian thing…" He grinned. "That was fine with me. But she liked to… hurt people. Breathers. She liked to hurt me to, though that… well, I guess you probably don't want to know." Lydia was looking at him with a mixture of horror and fascination.

"She could hurt you?" Her voice was just a whisper.

"Sure. I hurt. You didn't think so?" He scowled at her. "Typical breather, Lyds. I thought better of you." She crinkled her brow in consternation, and smoothed her hand across his breast.

"There's a lot I don't understand, Beej. Starting with why we're curled up in bed together, and going on from there. So if I screw up, I'm sorry. These are deep waters."

"You said it, kid." He fumbled for a moment with his now thoroughly confused feelings. "Where was I? Ah, right. Anyway, she gave Mrs. Bell gifts of fruit and hazelnuts; even cracked them for her once when she was ill. At the same time, she was slowly killin' the husband. Would swell up his tongue, and choke him, make it impossible for him to speak or eat. It was slow, and I guess it got too slow for Clara. So one night, she murdered him in his bed."

"_What_?" Lydia strained against his arm, trying to sit up, and he let her, so that she was staring down at him, mouth open in horror. He nodded soberly.

"Poison. Though the family stupidly destroyed the evidence. I think it was belladonna, tho, cuz it was both effective an' local. And I think she had been usin' it for some time, from all the tongue swellin'. Nasty business." He sighed, feeling tired all of the sudden. "Anyway, Juno caught wind of it, and Clara was tried and exorcised—not that it got rid of her, as you can see. Figured she would find a way out. We barely escaped with our souls. Even with that, she was Bound from saying my name, to call me back to her." He peered up at Lydia. "I guess that's where you come in."

"Which name could she not say? The B-word or Ga—" But he pressed a cool hand over her mouth, suddenly wide-eyed.

"She doesn't know my true name, Lyds. No one does. Except you."

"What if she did? What if she found out?"

"Disaster." His raw tone chilled her. "If she could possess _me_… I guess she would use me to try an' tear down the Wall."

"The Wall?"

"The barrier between Life and Death. If she could do that, she would be free. But so would everything else." He looked bleakly up at her, and then reached up and pulled her back down against him. But he didn't know if it was more to comfort her or himself. Her warm weight against him was an anchor in the darkness. But she had gone still.

"You… you could do that?"

He squeezed her gently. "Dunno. With the right focus, anythin' is possible." She pressed her face into his neck and slid her arms around him to clasp together against his side. He cupped her head in his hand and held her. The enemy of his enemy. He might have even kissed her hair. When she spoke again, he could barely hear her.

"I don't want the world to end."

"What would you be willing to do to stop it?" Had he still had a heart, it would have been pounding.

"Anything." Just a breath.

"Would you be willin' to allow her inside you again?"

"Ew. Why in hell would you want that? Unless you have some sick, perverted fantasy in mind…"

He bared his teeth at her. "Cuz that's when she's _weakest_. Cage of flesh and blood. She feels what you feel."

"Beej, this is my _body_you're talking about here." He rolled suddenly then, pinning her underneath him, their bodies separated by an arm's length. She struggled but could not budge him. "Dammit!"

"What are you willing to do, Lydia?" Uh oh—full name. "Because I would like to save your life, God knows why, since you treat me so _well_, and I only have one single idea, and it may not even work!"

"What are you talking about?" Lydia's voice was shaking with fury, and she struggled underneath him, trying to overbalance him. He smiled grimly at her.

"If we could distract her… make her forget, make her surrender, then I could bag her. And if I can bag her, then I can hold her."

Lydia stilled, realizing her struggle was pointless. Beetlejuice relaxed his hold on her shoulders, but did not release her. "Bag her? I don't understand." She closed her eyes, looking pained. "I don't understand any of this."

"Look." His voice was terse. "Everythin' that exists has edges, ghosts and breathers alike. The less spiritual space you take up, the easier it is to possess you—s'why it's simpler to possess children than adults. When she takes you, Lyds, her edges can't go beyond your physical body, but she fills it. If I were to try and take her then, it would be like driving two cars at once. Don't recommend it." He looked carefully at her, to make sure that she was listening. She was, slightly wide-eyed. "If we can somehow get her to back off a little… to relax her hold on you just a hair's breadth, then I can get in-between the two of you, and it's Ziploc time."

"You're sure you can hold her?"

"Do you owe me for savin' your skin?"

She scowled. "Maybe."

"Then _maybe_ I can hold her."

Lydia frowned at him thoughtfully, not sure whether he was playing with her or telling the truth. "And what if she gets you instead?"

He raised both eyebrows. "Then I guess you don't have to worry about me collectin'." He snorted gently, and she gave him a wry smile.

Another question formed on her lips, one that she dreaded the answer to. "Did she hear me say your name?"

"Hope not." And he fervently did. Lydia had been in the circle. But if Clara had heard, had figured it out… then this would be much harder. Not impossible. He was a scrapper, after all. In a fair fight he would be the stronger by far. Even in an unfair fight. But she had escaped an Exorcism. And he didn't know _her_ true name.

Lydia swallowed. "So how do you intend to do this? She possesses me, and then what, Beej? What's your big plan?"

"S'more of a haphazard hope than a plan, really…" He showed his teeth in a small, wistful smile.

"This is not making me feel better, Beej."

"This won't help, then." He collapsed his arms, closing the distance between them in a rush, and his mouth found hers, his arms sliding around her back and the nape of her neck. She was so shocked at first that she didn't react. He found her lower lip with his teeth and bit gently… and just for a moment, she arched slightly, her hips pressing involuntarily up into his. And then she lashed out with both arms and legs, thrashing against him and yelping angrily.

"Bastard! How _dare_ you!" He let her go immediately, scooting to the edge of the bed, the back of his hand pressed against his mouth.

When he finally found his voice, it was rough around the edges. "That may not have been enough time. Can you hold still a little longer?"

She scrubbed at her mouth with a corner of the bedsheet, casting him a look of utter disgust. He smiled a hungry smile at her, knowing that half of that at least was just for show, remembering how she had moved against him. And he knew what he had to know. They had a chance.

If she would just get over herself.


	6. Storm

**Chapter Six: Storm**

But that wasn't going to happen anytime soon, he thought sourly.

"_That's_ your big plan?" Lydia stared at him with palpable disbelief. "You were planning to _cop a feel_ and _that_ was going to get you the big baddie?" Beetlejuice scowled darkly and hunched against the verbal onslaught as if he were weathering a storm. "I can't _believe_ this! Here I… I _trusted_ you! Laid down in your arms, thought that we might actually _survive_ this and possibly even someday speak _civilly_ to each other, and now _this?_" She threw down her hands. "Gods!"

He sneered at her, feeling something burn in his breast that he hadn't felt in a long time. Each word out of her mouth made him feel worse and worse, until the hurt coalesced into anger. "Got a better idea? Hey, I do—howabout I just leave you two girls to chat? Because I don't need to be here, Lyds. I got about a zillion things I'd rather do than sit here and listen to how much you hate me!" And then he wished he could have swallowed those last words. Shit. Shitshitshit. He collapsed on the bed, arms splayed, completely frustrated. And to make matters absolutely impossible, he could still taste the delicious heat of her mouth on his lips. Aggravating, infuriating girl!

"Is that what this is about, Beej?" Lydia's voice was brittle. "I'm not being _nice_ enough to you? Goddamn it, Beej! I'm only here because of you!"

"I could say the same! Except _oh yeah_! I'd be _right_! _You _called _me_! I _stayed_ for you, Lydia." He clapped both hands over his face, and his body convulsed as if he were throwing a tantrum, shaking her bed so hard she had to grab hold of the headboard to keep from falling off. "I _chose_ this."

"And that makes you more noble? I haven't seen you bleed!"

"No! Because the damage you do is on the _inside_!" In for a penny, he thought belatedly. But it was far too late. Comprehension was dawning on her features. And then her brow wrinkled, and she rested her face in her hands. He swore softly. "You know, I thought we had somethin'. You call, I come, we work this out together, and then we see what happens…"

"You are a ghost, Beej. I am _alive_. How could anything possibly happen?" She still couldn't look at him.

"What just happened, then? When I kissed you? What happened there, Lyds? Were you just pretendin'? Because that didn't _feel_ like pretense." His voice had gone soft and cold, like whiskey over ice. Under her hands, she gritted her teeth.

"I don't know." Her hands fell to her lap, and he was chagrined to see that her cheeks were wet with tears. "I don't know anything except that I'm scared, and I set all my hope on you, and now I don't know what to think." She looked at him, and her expression was bleak. He sighed, and shook his head like a dog. And then, on the thready edge of his consciousness, the alarm bells began to ring.

"Trust me." He could not have begged for anything more sincerely in his life than at that moment. Because he could feel something that she could not. Clara was coming back

"How?" Her voice was the barest whisper.

"She's here, Lyds." And then he squinted, and gritted his teeth as if he were in terrible pain. Lydia looked around the room, trying to see, and not daring to move away from him now that She was here. She clutched at his arm fearfully.

"Are we safe? Can you keep her back?" Under her hand, his muscles flexed and trembled, and he reached out and took hold of her wrist.

"Somethin's wrong." And then Lydia heard a throaty chuckle that raised the hackles on the back of her neck.

"No … something is finally _right_ … Gabriel." Lydia felt the slap of warm air as their cage collapsed. Beetlejuice snarled, a terrible wild sound that filled Lydia with a desperate fear. A shapeless mass curled around them both, sweltering and suffocating. Beetlejuice looked up at Lydia through heavily hooded eyes, and shook his head.

"I can't… M' sorry, Lyds." And then, so softly that she forgot about being afraid, he reached out, cupped the back of her head, and kissed her. His mouth pressed against hers, tenderly, and a strangely heavy shock of heat passed between them. She tried to pull back reflexively but he held on to her with immense strength. When she eased down, he kissed her on the cheek, and then pressed his lips against her ear. "Marry me…" he whispered, and it echoed through her head

With an inhuman shriek, Beetlejuice was ripped away from her and thrown off the bed onto the floor. She saw him blanketed with a foul, reeking mist, made from something more than dead. He fought for his life, but he had lost the advantage. It was over within minutes. When he stood, his body was the same, but the mechanism within was very, very wrong. As Lydia watched in horror, his elfin, wicked features began to bubble and run, and reshape themselves. The healthy muscle of his chest and arms was bent and broken, and she squeezed her eyes shut against a sudden rush of tears.

"Open your eyes, girl!" It wasn't his voice anymore. Lydia's eyes snapped open against her will, and she was forced to look at what had become of her protector. The ghost who stood before her was small and lithe, like a picture of a woman from the nineteenth century, with small feet and a narrow waist. She had long dark hair piled on op of her head, and was wearing breeches and a worn woolen coat. Her eyes sparkled insanely. "Lovely, don't you think? All this energy in such a shabby form as his! Shocking, how he let himself go over the years..." Clara, for it was unmistakably she that had taken over Beetlejuice so completely, stretched languidly, and then gave Lydia a sharp look. Lydia, dumb with shock and grief and fear, could only stare back. Clara minced over to her and stroked her cheek with a cold hand. Lydia twitched to avoid her, thinking how desperately she wished it could have been him… if she just had another chance.

"Pretty… I can see what he sees in you. I can hear him yelling even now. How annoying. But in time, he'll give up the ghost!" She tittered musically, and then her dainty brow wrinkled slightly. "But we can't have you calling him back now, can we?" Lydia felt a sickening lurch in her throat, and started to gag. Her mouth felt like it was filling up, and she had to struggle to breath. Clara smiled brilliantly at her. "There, now, just like old Jack! He died too slow. Such a shame for such a pretty girl as you." Lydia tried to speak, but her tongue wouldn't work. She could still scream, though, and she howled out her pain even as Clara laughed at her.

"Well, ta, dearie. I'm going to take this fine new body for a test drive, I think! So dreary being exorcised, and all in tatters. It took so long to just gather the strength to move! This is so much better! But don't worry… I'll be back. You've such a nice place here—I think I'll stay!" With a bang like thunder, Clara vanished, and with it, Lydia's last hope.

She had lost him. Clara had never wanted her at all. Lydia had just been the gateway to the bigger prize. Sorrow and regret consumed her. This was her fault. She had been played, from beginning to end, and Beetlejuice was the victim.

His last words echoed in her head. Marry him? Hot tears flooded out of her, and she wrapped her arms around her body and sobbed great wracking sobs, choking around her mute, swollen tongue. At the moment, she would have done anything in the world just to be able to tell him 'no' to his face.


	7. Dream

**AN: **A nod to the fabulously creepy and revealing theater scene in Donnie Darko. And hugs to everyone else. The leaves are turning.**  
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**Soundtrack: **Written to Chimera by Delirium.

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**Chapter 7: Dream**

Lydia was dreaming.

She knew this because she wasn't breathing. And if she were dead, she would not be dreaming. Did Beetlejuice dream? If so, it would not have been of this, she was fairly certain. Of course, with him, one could never be certain.

She sipped her drink, a nicely bubbly fountain Coke, which was the best kind of Coke to have, 2-liter bottles being the absolute worst, especially after a few days of constant opening and closing, when the burst of carbonation was reduced to just a pathetic fizzle. In her lap was a big tub of buttered popcorn, still warm from the popper, and she reached in and took a few kernels. Even though she was dreaming, the popcorn tasted salty and good.

On the big screen, images flashed rapidly, seemingly disconnected. The galloping withers of a roan horse, and a glimpse of thin pale legs squeezing the horse's flanks tightly. Some grand vista of ancient countryside from the top of a mountain. A dark little girl, laughing as she splashed water in the direction of the camera, if there was one. The face of a mother, hard from constant work but with room in her pale green eyes for a gentle gleam of love. Lydia didn't remember her own mother ever looking at her like that, but it was probably just because it had been too long. She was forgetting.

Gradually she got the sense, hazily, that she was seeing the visions through someone else's eyes. Young girls walking by tried to appear uninterested, giggling when they thought the object of their admiration wasn't looking. The glowing heat of a forge, and strong hands… her hands, but it wasn't her at all. A man's hands, wiping a filthy cloth over a leanly muscled chest. She couldn't feel anything but her Coke and popcorn, but she could see as if she were looking through his eyes. The face of a lovely young woman, laughing with her eyes. Dark before the dawn, chasing through the woods, and then Lydia squeezed shut her eyes as she became an involuntary voyeur to lovemaking in the dawn light, and laughter, and soft whispers. Deeply uncomfortable, Lydia shifted in her chair, but the visions followed her. Blinding sunlight, and travel by horseback to a large city.

And then something changed. The same hands, older, struggling to form letters on a sheet of parchment. G…a…b…r…i…e…l , in halting, unformed script. Lydia's heart, which had not been beating, suddenly pounded in her ears. Gabriel. She knew that name. She knew whose hands these were. And then, in a silvered mirror, she saw his face, as he adjusted a heavy woolen dark brown cloak that buttoned against his right shoulder, and tugged down a plain grey tunic underneath it. In a rare moment of unguarded calm, he squinted at his own reflection, and flashed that smile she knew so well. With dramatically upswept eyebrows and broad jawline, he wasn't the most handsome of men. But the sparkle in his jade eyes and the knowing tilt of his smile more than made up for any flaw in bone structure. He looked… he looked kind. Like someone she would have liked to know.

She did know him.

"I know you."

"Of course you do. Try to keep up." Lydia turned to her right, and sitting beside her in the chair was the young man, his hair long in the back and hanging loose in soft golden curls.

"I'm lost."

"Not yet." He slid his hand over hers, and it was as cold as ice. She laced her fingers through his, finding comfort from his nearness.

"You're lost."

"Maybe. But if you stay found, then we've still got a chance."

"A chance for what?" She arched her eyebrow curiously, and he tipped his chin toward the movie screen. On it, she saw herself, laughing in the dawn light, with his hands against her shoulders, and she couldn't tell who was more pale. She blushed. "You always want what you don't have the right to."

"You asked me what I wanted. This is what I want."

"Why can't it just be simple?"

"I guess that's your question to answer." His voice was like honey and gravel, all at once.

"I don't know what to do, Gabe." She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he kissed her forehead gently.

"She doesn't have all the cards."

"How many cards does she have?"

In response, he tucked his hand into the pocket of his gray tunic and pulled out a few worn and tattered playing cards, and handed them to her, face down. "More important is which ones we have."

Lydia flipped them over. A skeleton, bent over a cane, leered back at her. Nothing was written below, but Lydia knew she was holding the Death card. She glanced up, but the seat next to her was empty. Frowning, she flipped over the second card. A man was stepping carelessly over a cliff. Written below was the word 'Fool.' Feeling less the comforted, Lydia turned over the final card. Two bodies intertwined with the winding vines of a rose. 'Love.'

She should have known.

"That's what we have? Death, foolishness, and your crazy obsession with me? I'm not comforted, Gabriel."

"You don't get it—you're so blinded by your own hang-ups that you can't see the truth. And I am not obsessed, okay? Get over yourself." He was sitting in front of her, in all his scruffy poltergeist glory. She found herself strangely relieved that he looked 'normal' again, whatever that was. His hands turned each card restlessly over and over.

"You get over me first."

"Love to, babes." He leered at her, and she flushed.

"That wasn't what I meant."

"Freud would have a field day with you."

"Fuck off."

"Like I said…"

"Dammit, Beetlejuice. I am going to die, and you are already gone, and all you can think of is sex?"

"No, all _you_ can think of is sex. This is _your_ dream, Lyds. Now shut up and listen." Lydia's mouth, already open in protest, snapped shut. "The Death card is about change. The end of somethin' old, something broken. The Fool is about forgettin' your humanity, and just filling yourself up with pleasure until you can't see which way is light and which darkness. Follow me?" She nodded, mute. "Love is about wantin' somethin' so bad you have to have it—about sellin' your whole life out for the one thing that means more to you than anythin' else." He paused, and took a deep breath. "You have to figure out what belongs to who, Lyds. She took all of that away from me. All I got is this…" He held up his hand, and there was the ring that she had bound him with, glimmering gently in the silver white light. She looked down at her own hand, and the ring was still on her finger.

"I don't understand."

"…and this." He held out his other hand, which was empty. And then his strong fingers slowly curled into a fist. She stared at his hand for a moment, and then back to his face. "The rest is you, Lydia. Hit her where she's weak."

And he was beside her, and his lips brushed against her cheek. "No matter what, I trusted you with my life. Remember that." And then he was gone.

She lifted her hand to her cheek, but the ghosted kiss was already fading. "Thanks, Beej. That makes me feel _so much better_…"

Lydia woke from her dream. And she was not dead. She opened her eyes to see Clara pacing back and forth across the floor, punching one hand rhythmically into the cup of the other. She looked very, very angry. Lydia closed her eyes quickly, before Clara turned to see that she was awake.

Amend that last. She was not dead _yet_.


	8. Death, the Fool, and Love

**AN: **Whew. Tough chapter. Written to Portishead. And in traffic. And in the sleepless dawn, when i couldn't shut off the tape loop. Actually, this may have contributed greatly to the sleeplessness! Still not quite done. My heartfelt thanks to Doormouse, who kept me going with PM's and story ideas way late into the night. :hugs:

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**Chapter 8: Death, the Fool, and Love**

"Open your eyes. I know you're awake, you stupid chit." Lydia opened her eyes, deflating slightly at her total lack of believability. Clara was sitting on her computer chair, her knees wide and heavy boots that laced up a good six inches below her breechcuffs. Lydia blanched a bit when she realized those were _his_ boots. The boots that he loved so much he slept in them. She shook her head. Random bits of information about him, intimate things that she didn't feel right knowing, kept shaking loose. That he was left-handed. That he _hated_ Italian, but didn't know how to cook anything else. But Clara was staring at her, so she tried to focus.

"Can I… oh, yuck, that was gross." Lydia moved her tongue, now normal-sized, around in her mouth. "That was completely unnecessary." Her voice felt like it had rusted. Her mouth was as dry as a desert.

"What the hell do you know about it?" Clara's voice was tense and strained, and she looked stressed, too. Lydia could only imagine what was going on inside her. As if answering Lydia's unspoken question, Clara stood up and paced. "He won't shut up, Lydia. Lyds? Is that what he calls you?" She curled her lip cruelly at Lydia. "I know _all_ about you, little girlchild."

"Whatever. Beetlejuice may have a problem with unrequited lust, but he doesn't know hardly anything about me, okay? So get over yourself." Lydia sounded braver than she felt. She hoped. And a tiny part of her wondered what exactly Clara was talking about. The ghost looked… wild. She was beautiful. Rich chocolate hair that hung loose now, and deep brown eyes that looked vaguely Mediterranean, but her features were pale and dainty. She paced, and paced, and hugged herself tightly, obviously unaware of how unstable she appeared. Lydia found a voice halfway between curious and reproachful. "Why are you doing this?"

"Do you have _any_ idea what a stupid question that is?" Clara bent down into Lydia's face, and bared her teeth, and suddenly she didn't look even remotely pretty. "He's the _only_ one. Beej… Gabriel. Ah, such a lovely sound. Delicious on the tongue, like golden sunlight. Fresh warm champaign grapes off the vine, bursting in the mouth. She always loved those best."

Lydia thought it best to keep her talking as long as possible. "Who?"

"Lucy, you ignorant idiot. I'm sure Beej told you all about _her."_

"Um… you mean Mrs. Bell? The wife of the husband you murdered?" Great, Lydia, throw gasoline on the fire. Clara snarled.

"He deserved it! He tore up that little girl, you know? Betsy hated him. She was the one who called me, tho she never would admit it later. Bitch. I tried to get her to confess it all, but she never would." Clara narrowed her eyes then, and then turned abruptly to Lydia, who jumped back slightly. "You think if I'm talking, I won't hurt you, don't you? But I had a better plan, little Lydia." Clara's eyes widened manically, and she clapped her hands over her own ears. "Maybe, if I hurt you, then he'll…STOP… _SHOUTING_!"

Lydia's bed burst into flames, and Lydia yelped and jumped off, grabbing her comforter and folding it up to smother the flames. Clara cackled and howled with laughter, watching her struggle against the rapidly escalating fire. The overhead fire sensor bleeped loudly, and then the sprinklers spouted water, drenching not only the bed, but every corner of the room. Lydia turned her open mouth to the ceiling and drank down the cool, stale water to quench her thirst. Clara just scowled at the sprinklers.

"Maybe he doesn't care about me," Lydia whispered. "Maybe he just wants you to let him go."

"Why should I? He was just as guilty. He ran and hid and I got stuck with the blame. Jerusalem, Mathy… all of them. Even Mathy left me. Everything fell apart after Mathy left me."

"Fell apart." Sudden hot realization bloomed in Lydia's breast. She stared at Clara. And she knew who the cards were for. But she had no time at all to figure out what to do with the connection, because Clara slammed her against the wall.

"I'm tired of this. Answer me a _question_, little girl." As Clara walked slowly toward her, the walls began to disintegrate around them. Paint peeled, blackened, and turned to ash. Holes opened in walls and Lydia could hear screaming behind them. "Why can I hear it, but I can't get through? Even at his drunkest, Beej was never so weak as this! I came to him because I wanted the _best_. And now I can stretch, but I can't stretch far enough." Her voice was reduced to a feral growl. She spread her arms wide, and the floor dropped out from under them both. Lydia, pinned to the wall, had nothing beneath her but a pit filled with darkness. She couldn't hold back the scream.

Clara clapped her hands over her ears. "Shut up! _Shut UP_! I SAID SHUT UP!" But Lydia kept screaming, until she felt her tongue fill her mouth and she choked, gagging and crying. If she didn't calm down, she would never make it out of here alive. Sucking in thready streams of air, she slowly filled and unfilled her lungs, holding down the panic with both hands. It was the hardest thing she had ever done, harder even than dredging up the strength to say his name that very first time, when he had beaten her, when she lay bleeding on her knees in front of him.

"Oh…oh kay…" she managed to force out. The pressure in her mouth eased, and she nodded, as if telling Clara that everything was alright now. Everything was fine. Let go the noose. Lydia swallowed. It was time. "I dreamt…"

"Curious mortal weakness, dreams." Clara floated above the chasm, legs crossed easily.

"I dreamt of three tarot cards. But I think… the dream was about you, Clara."

"What of it?" Clara tried to look dismissive, but she was clearly interested. _Hit her where it hurts._ His voice echoed in her head. Lydia just arched an eyebrow, as if she wasn't pinned like a doomed butterfly to the wall of a bottomless pit. Clara chewed at a nail, and then scowled. "Fine. What about it?"

"Death was the first." Lydia was playing for her life here, but the last thing she could do was allow desperation to show. "Death, as in the end of something old… something that needed to be put out of its misery."

"Beej fits the bill on _that_ one!" Clara cackled. "What else?"

"The Fool. The Fool is about… new beginnings. Filling yourself with the pleasure of life; starting from scratch, if you take my meaning." Lydia attempted a coy smile. She had no idea if it actually looked coy, or even if it was a smile. But Clara peered at her oddly.

"I'm beginning to. But I thought you two were… lovers. Why would you want to betray him?" She seemed genuinely curious. Lydia shrugged, and summoned up all the derision she could manage.

"Please! Lovers? That's what _he_ wanted, but you know men. He couldn't keep his hands off me—he even invaded my bath!" In her mind, Lydia held fast to that image of him, water streaming down his finely muscled shoulders, his jade eyes mischievous in the steamy half-light. His fingers pressing lightly against her back, tracing the scars of his own initials. "It was disgusting." She shivered, but for different reasons than what Clara would understand. She hoped.

"I _do_ know men. Beej always tried for more than he had earned. And old Jack, well… he deserved more than he got, in the end." Clara grinned brutally. "And what about the third card, little Lydia?"

And this would be hardest of all. Lydia took a deep breath. Looking nervous wasn't hard. Looking nervous because she was feeling shy… well, she would either receive the Oscar or die. "The Lovers."

Clara actually jumped up from where she was sitting, and drifted slowly to the same level as Lydia was pinned to. "What?"

"Lovers, Clara." Lydia licked her lips, and her heart was pounding. Suddenly, the floor appeared underneath her, and she slid slowly to her knees. Clara stood above her, a new, insane light in her eyes. Lydia stood shakily, and found herself nose to nose with the delicate features of the deranged spirit.

"You don't want _him, _do you?" Uncertainty fluttered in her voice.

"Never. I have much better taste than that scruffy poltergeist." She tilted her head slightly, seductively. She hoped. "Much better." And then, in that trembling moment, she saw that one of Clara's eyes had turned the color of old jade.

_Everythin' that exists has edges…_

_Hit her where it hurts…_

_If we can somehow get her to back off a little… distract her… get in-between the two of you…_

Now or never, Lydia. She took her last breath, and took Clara's head in her hands, and kissed her.

Clara froze for one terrifying second, and then, with trembling lips, hesitantly deepened the kiss. Lydia squeezed her eyes shut, and imagined it was him, and remembered how he had told her to keep still, just for a moment. She prayed in that moment. She weighed her chances of surviving this if he couldn't manage to break through.

It was the longest moment of her life.

And then her prayers were interrupted violently as Clara erupted into screams, and thrashed onto the floor, flailing her arms and legs. Everything even remotely breakable in Lydia's apartment shattered into a million pieces, and Lydia covered her head with her hands, crawling into a corner.

"You… bitch! You… tricked me." Clara's voice was thready, and faded into nothing at the end. A small sucking sound, and Lydia's ears popped as if the air pressure had changed suddenly.

"Get over yourself, you crazy… crazy… ohhh, shit." Lydia turned her head, fearful of what she might see. Beetlejuice was lying on the floor in a puddle of ectoplasmic goo. His hand was clutched across his heart, and for a terrible instant, she thought he was dead. Then he rolled over wearily and sat up, running a hand through his slime-covered hair. "Gods, Lydia. I think I'm gonna be sick." And he collapsed back onto the floor with a queasy splat.

"Beej… Gods, what _is_ that?" Lydia crawled over to him, but was suddenly too weary to care that he was ruining her carpet. A two hundred and ten dollar deposit seemed like pretty small change at the moment. She lay down next to him. "Is she gone?"

"Yep. Kinda. Mostly." He reached out to stroke the tip of her ear. "You did good, kid."

Lydia closed her eyes, exhausted, feeling like she could sleep for a week. She would need all of her strength to give him the loudest, most invective-filled lecture of his long and eventful life.


	9. The Answer

**AN:** :collapses: I just realized that there has to be a sequel to this. But i'm not writing it tonight! Hugs and kisses and love to Wanda, to wee-me, to Anna McNarin, to mywickedlywierdnature, to Spiderjuice, and to Doormouse. You are the Juice.

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**Chapter 9: The Answer**

When she woke, it was dark. Not just night, but completely dark. "Beej?" Silence greeted her, and she felt a nervous little trickle of fear lace through her bones. "Beej? Are you here?" And then she realized that she was no longer on the floor, but in her bed, which was still damp and smelled of burnt cotton. She wrinkled her nose and reached for her bedside lamp, but her hand grazed through air where it was supposed to be. On the little table she felt the remains of it, and remembered.

"She shattered every piece of glass within a hundred yards of this place. Streetlights, windshields… lighbulbs. All I could find was this." His voice was right next to her in the darkness, and after her heart slowed slightly she realized he was sitting on the edge of the bed. She heard the scraping of a match, and the flare of light made her squint as he lit a candle and brushed off a pile of shattered ceramic to place it on the little table.

"You had me scared there for a minute, Beej. I thought she came back." She lifted herself up on her elbows, and surveyed the damage. And then she tried to find something—_anything_ that was undamaged. As she heaved a great sigh at the complete destruction of everything that she owned, Beetlejuice flopped down on the bed beside her and stretched out languidly, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. Lydia inspected him for goo, but he seemed clean enough. Not like it mattered at this point.

He had closed his eyes, and when he spoke his voice was gentle and gruff, matching the half-light glow of the candle. "Sorry. Had to go back and tell Juno the whole sordid story. She was wonderin' why Clara ended up on her desk in a little iron box. Came here first, o'course. But I wanted to let you sleep." He seemed a bit bashful at the end.

"Thank you." She paused, feeling a bit unsteady. "I need a new bed. Actually, I need a new everything."

He just snorted. "At least you don't need a new poltergeist."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Who said I needed an old one?"

He rolled over and propped his head on his hand. "Is that the best you can do?" He gave her half of a sleepy grin, barely showing teeth, and she grinned back at him.

"Pretty pathetic, huh?"

"You've done better in your sleep."

Lydia swallowed, remembering the dream. "Was that really you?"

"All that mattered, Lyds." He sighed, and fell back against the bed. "You can separate the ghost and the machine, but a machine only works so well for a strange hand. And Clara… well, they don't come much stranger than her."

"So she _did_ have all your energy… Beej, that was a terrible risk! Gods, to think she could blow everything up within a hundred yards when she had just gotten started… I think _I'm_ gonna be sick." Exhaustion, spent fear, the damp, and the scorched ruin of her home all crept up on her at once. She burst into shuddering tears. Taken aback, Beetlejuice patted her shoulder awkwardly.

"Hey, it's okay! She's not coming back! Lyds, babe… shhh." Slowly, he gathered her up against him, and she clutched at his neck and squeezed him as hard as she could. "You were amazin', you know," he murmured. "To the bitter end, she believed you. And tellin' her about those tarot cards? Stroke of genius."

Lydia sniffed. "You told _me_ about them."

"Maybe. But I couldn't make it work. That was all you." He sounded… proud. She grinned through her tears.

"You're just trying to distract me so I'll stop crying," she accused gently. He shook his head wryly at her.

"Ah, girlchild; when will you ever learn? Any excuse to hold you—I'm not picky."

"You're a rogue."

"An' a scoundrel. Tell me one I've not heard before."

She snorted delicately. "My life's not that long."

Lydia took a deep breath, feeling a bit stronger, and pulled away from him a bit. Her eye flicked to a dark brand in the shape of a circle that marred the pale, pearl-colored skin over his heart. That was new. She traced it with a finger, and he watched her in silence.

"What's this?"

He grunted. "Souvenir. Where the soul came through." A chill shivered down Lydia's spine.

"Which one? Yours or hers?"

He contemplated her for a moment, and then smiled slightly and grazed his finger over the tip of her ear again. This time it made her shiver. "She didn't have a soul, Lyds. It was mine you held on to."

His confession threatened to send her into tears again, or worse. It was too intimate, too close. She needed space, and didn't want it all at the same time. He watched her struggle, and kept his silence, until she finally spoke again.

"Right before… right before she took you, you asked me…" But she couldn't finish, remembering the despair in his voice.

"… to marry me?" His eyes sparkled in the dim light, and a smile was playing about his lips at her discomfort.

"Why?"

His mouth twitched wryly, and he released her, stretching out and leaning his head back on crossed wrists. "I expected an answer."

She swallowed, and frowned at him. "No."

"What? After all we've been through?" He sounded genuinely outraged. She rose to meet him.

"We? I bound you in a circle and you beat me bloody, and then Clara cut me open for your amusement, and after that you snuck into my shower—" He chuckled and she smacked him on the arm. "And after that, oh yeah, you were possessed by a crazy exorcised ghost and handed me your _soul_ to hang on to, and then between the two of you, I'll never recoup the financial loss! None of that counts as quality time, Beej! Not to mention the fact that I'm still _alive._" She was fully beyond sorrow into exasperation now.

He shrugged. "Well, if _that's_ all…"

"Beetlejuice…"

"Hey! No need to get nasty, Lyds!"

"Oh, you've not heard anything yet, Beej!"

"Hmm. You know, I think I left the coffee on! I'll just… hey!"

"You're not going anywhere until you clean up this mess, dammit—come back here! Beetlejuice!"

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:fin: (for now…!) 


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